


The Deathly Kiss

by Dame_Syrup (mary_pseud)



Category: Doctor Who, Hammer Horror Films
Genre: Alien Disease, F/M, Kinkmeme, M/M, Stakes, Vampires, negligees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 19:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12801045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mary_pseud/pseuds/Dame_Syrup
Summary: Originally written for a LiveJournal Dr. Who kinkmeme community, sizeofthatthing, from the prompt: "Peter Cushing's Doctor/Christopher Lee's Master - A Hammer movie with sci-fi, occultism, or vampire porn."The Doctor, Ian and Barbara try to foil the Master's latest plot, but the villain has very personal designs on all three of them.





	The Deathly Kiss

"Now remember, Ian," the Doctor said again, hefting a heavy black leather case under one arm. "You must circle the entire building and put this into every lock. Don't miss a single window or door, or they may escape."

"But Barbara's in there!"

"I know, and I promise you, we will do everything we can to get her out of there." The Doctor's pince-nez glinted in the setting sun, and his blue eyes were grave under his white hair. "What we face here is – a horror, but a horror with a scientific basis. We can defeat what is inside this building."

Ian sighed, his shoulders slumping a little under his suit jacket. "You're right." Taking the heavy tube, he headed to his left, tramping through the overgrown weeds that littered the grounds of the desolate manor house that the Doctor insisted was the new home of an old enemy.

"Ian, Ian!" He looked up and saw the Doctor taking a heavy piece of chalk from his pocket, and marking a cross on the door he was about to enter. "I'll mark this door. Wait for me – and don't come in after sunset! Go back to the TARDIS, you'll be safe there."

"Safe." Ian nodded, gritting his teeth a little. "Gluing the locks shut, like a delinquent." But he dutifully waded through the weeds, applying the Doctor's glue to every windowsill and door he found. It did seem to work magically fast, running into the seams and locks and hardening at once into black glossy plastic.

 

* * *

Inside the manor house, the Doctor moved very slowly, squinting a little in the gloom. The rooms were richly furnished with heavy wooden furniture and great paintings along the walls, but they were all covered over with a thick layer of dust. The floors were dusty too, but there the dust was tracked with many feet, shod and bare. The Doctor winced, a little crease forming between his brows. The man he sought – if he was here, he was clearly not alone.

 

* * *

Ian's trouser cuffs had picked up an impressive burden of burdock burrs, but he was satisfied that the house was sealed, except for the door the Doctor had used to enter it. He looked at the door, then at the setting sun hidden behind clouds and the distant, untrimmed hawthorn hedge. It wasn't quite dark yet, but...should he head back to the TARDIS anyway? It rankled, waiting in there for some signal from the Doctor.

"Ian."

He turned with a sudden smile, to face the opening door; and then he froze.

Barbara was there, but she was – different. Her black hair looked like gleaming jet against her pale skin, with only her ruby lips to give her face any colour. Her eyes were intent on Ian, very intent, and he barely noticed that she was wearing a low-cut white dress that – well, it was barely a dress, more like a nightgown. It was tied with ribbons around her waist in a way that made her look – well, very curvy. But even her semi-clad body couldn't distract him from her eyes.

Here eyes – they seemed to drink him in, absorbing him, washing him all over with some warm liquid that would soon boil and set him afire. And he wanted – he wanted to burn.

"Ian," she said again, and reached out one pale hand. She caressed his face, and then her fingertips drifted down his chest, over his tie, to halt a certain distance beneath his belt buckle.

Tugging slightly, she guided him forward, and the door closed behind Ian with an ominous thud.

 

* * *

The Doctor had investigated almost the entire lower floor of the house by now. He paused outside what he thought was the study, and listened. There was faint warmth in the air there, a smell of wine or meat or something else alive.

Slowly, with delicate care, the Doctor took his black case and tucked it onto the bookshelf beside him, where it would hopefully blend in invisibly. It contained the only hope he had of defeating what waited here, but if he was captured with it they would surely destroy the case's contents out of fear or ignorance. Better to see if words, rather than deeds, would be enough to end this.

He entered the study; it was dimly lit by the remains of a fire in the hearth, light shining on great twisted pillars and heavy brocaded chairs, bookshelves and desks, all the accoutrements of a gentleman's work room.

There was a man waiting, standing as though at attention in front of a pair of heavy black velvet curtains that apparently closed off some doorway or niche. He was tall, with dark hair and beard streaked with grey, and his eyes held a glittering energy to them like a serpent's. He wore a sober black suit with a round collar that made him look almost clerical; he had probably dressed that way deliberately.

"The Doctor. At last," he said, smiling and showing teeth that seemed a touch too bright in his face.

"It has been a long time," the Doctor said, disdaining to use the other's name. He eyed the taller man, his eyes pausing for a moment on a disturbing wet patch on one sleeve. "You're looking well."

"And you are looking old, my old friend." The Master's voice seemed to roll like an ominous weight through the room, each syllable a new honeyed threat. "But you need not. You could join me. Join me and have life eternal, beyond any limits-"

"Join you, and let you turn Earth into a dead world!" the Doctor snapped, and then tried to calm himself. But it was nearly impossible, at the thought of what horrors the Master might have brought onto this young, this innocent and so new world.

"But you should join us, Doctor. After all, your companion already has."

Without looking the Master reached back and opened the curtain, showing the pale swaying figure that waited there, staring.

The Doctor felt his spirit wilt at the sight of her. It was Barbara, but a Barbara drained and possessed, emptied of life and filled with something else.

No, he told himself firmly. She's hypnotised, drugged, infected perhaps, but he has not had time to take her life. She lives! She can be cured!

"Go to him, my dear," the Master purred, and Barbara stepped forward, her bare feet peeping out from under the hem of her scandalously thin nightdress. The Doctor stepped back, putting his back to a pillar.

"Hold him," and the pillar suddenly seemed to sprout arms and seize him. Desperately, the Doctor twisted, turning and seeing – Ian. Oh, Ian...

Ian with a smear of blood on his collar, and the wide gaze of a man in deep hypnosis. His hands on the Doctor's arms were cold, cold that he could feel it even through his hound's-tooth jacket.

"Ian. Ian, look at me, listen to me. Ian, it's the Doctor." The Doctor kept darting little glances at the approaching Barbara, seeing how her eyes fastened on his bared neck as he strained to try and face Ian. "Ian, you've got to let me go. You've got to help me; we have got to save Barbara."

"I don't need to be saved, Doctor," she purred, her arms going around his neck. He turned to try and remonstrate with her, and her lips found his.

Her mouth was completely intoxicating; the taste of her lips, the tickle of her breath was ambrosia. Completely against his will, the Doctor sagged in Ian's grasp, letting his lips part, letting her mouth work urgently against him.

Her mouth left his and started working along his jaw line, crawling like an insect over his skin towards his neck. The Doctor tried to pull himself away from the touch of her body against his, the feel of her barely covered breasts against his chest, and instead found himself pressed closer by Ian's body, pinning him between them.

The Master was watching, and as the Doctor's struggles grew more frenzied he reached out and took the Doctor's wrists in his own hands.

"Why are you fighting this?" he said, eyes almost glowing with seductive menace. "Your companions did not fight-"

"You've hypnotised them!"

"I have offered them the kiss of eternal life. And they have accepted. As you will..." and the Master leaned forward, and kissed the Doctor.

There was nothing seductive about this kiss; it was rough and harsh, skinning the Doctor's lips back, pressing hard tongue to tongue. There was a sudden shocking pain in his neck, the feeling of wetness running over his skin. And suddenly there was another breath on his neck: Ian was there, his tongue and Barbara's lapping the blood from his skin.

Desperately, the Doctor twisted one of his hands, feeling with his thumb for a tiny bump between the third and fourth fingers of his hand. He found it and pressed, hard enough to feels his nails cut the skin, but his fingers were weakening...

The Master released the Doctor's wrists and with a single gesture ripped his waistcoat and shirt open. "Feed," he ordered, and as Ian's lips grew more frantic on the Doctor's neck, and Barbara's mouth slid down his bared skin, seeking more intimate veins to pierce, the Master took the Doctor's mouth in his and bit his lips, printing his fangs against them, tasting blood and power and the life of his enemy on his tongue, and it was triumph and damnation, all in one kiss.

 

* * *

The Doctor woke up in the arms of a corpse.

He started, and then deliberately froze, staring at his surroundings.

He was in the cellar, apparently. With the rest of the Master's – harem, or victims, or what have you. They were sprawled in loose disarray over the floor, draped over the sheet-covered furniture like discarded toys. The Doctor turned to look at the body that lay with its arms loosely around him, and when he held very still, he could see the slow beat of the pulse in the young man's neck, count the languid breaths. Alive, barely. Certainly not a corpse. But apparently unable to wake up.

The Doctor slowly extricated himself from the man's arms, and staggered upright. Going to fasten his sadly disarrayed clothing, he felt a sharp pain in his hand. He raised that hand, saw the bruise between his fingers, and smiled.

He had gambled that they might smell the antidote in his system, if he took it before he entered the house. So he had implanted a capsule of it between his fingers, and broken it at the last second. Thankfully they had not tasted it, but then again Ian and Barbara were-

Where were they?

He looked, and quickly found them laid out side by side, near a heavy velvet-covered table that was nearly an altar. Atop it, the Master slept, covered from chin to feet in a long black cape.

The Doctor circled his sleeping opponent, staring. With soft fingers, he checked the man's pockets for a key – nothing. He went up the wooden stairs to the cellar door, and confirmed that it was locked. Then he returned to the Master, and frowned.

"He would keep it on him – yes," the Doctor said, twisting the Master's boot heel and revealing a tiny secret compartment, and a key. He turned to the stairs and went down on one knee, dizzy. Even if the infection had not set in his veins, he was still weak from loss of blood. He had to hurry.

He unlocked the cellar door and got his leather case. Opening it, he withdrew a thermos of strong tea (which he promptly drank) and a gleaming silver cylinder that seemed to be made of nested collapsible sections, ending with a very nasty looking point.

The Doctor opened the cylinder and carefully put an ampoule of fluid in the section closest to the tip, and tested the needle that was inset into the mechanism. Then he turned to his companions, and paused.

He wanted to save Barbara first, but he was still swaying with shock; he needed Ian to help him. So he knelt astride Ian, opened his shirt with a trembling hand, and then with a firm two-handed grip he raised the metal stake – and stopped.

What if he screamed?

The Doctor quickly fumbled through his pockets and brought out a handkerchief. With Ian's lowered respiration, there should be no risk of asphyxiation. He stuffed it loosely into Ian's mouth, raised the stake again and slammed it as hard as he could into the man's breastbone. He put the stake aside and pressed his head to Ian's chest, one hand poised to shut his mouth if he shouted, but instead there was just the damp noise of his spitting out the handkerchief.

"Where am I?" Ian whispered, and he sounded sane.

"We're here – oh, I'm so glad to see you!"

Ian's eyes were clearing now. "Doctor? What – what happened to me? What happened to-" and the Doctor put his hand over Ian's mouth after all, silencing him when he would have shouted at the sight of his friend lying pale and limp on the rough stone floor.

"She's infected, just as you were." The Doctor was removing the needle from the tip of the metal stake, and inserting a fresh ampoule. "The cure has to be delivered directly into the heart, under pressure, in order to saturate the system. This needle is sharp enough to go through steel; it will pierce the breastbone with no problem. So-" he held the stake out to Ian invitingly.

"Ah," Ian choked. Then he swallowed, and took the stake in one hand, and carefully braced himself. He swung it slowly, once, getting the weight of it, and then slammed it downwards.

It was a miracle; colour flooded over Barbara's face, and she opened her eyes and immediately clapped her hands over her chest.

"Oh dear," the Doctor said, quickly shedding his jacket. She accepted it, draping it over her shoulders and then opening it to see the single drop of blood on her skin like a wet red pearl.

As the Doctor explained what they had to do to Barbara, Ian was going to the other victims, rolling them over onto their backs, parting their clothes where necessary (the woman were dressed in very low-necked attire, and Ian averted his eyes quite often). Then he and the Doctor took turns: one would inject the antidote, the other would hold the man or woman down, explain what had happened.

"But I wanted to be a vampire!" one of the women kept sniffling, and Barbara looked ready to slap her.

"My friends," the Doctor said, holding his hands up, "you have been infected with a disease. Infected deliberately, by that man there. And while it might have given you youth and strength and life, temporarily, I assure you that as the years and decades passed, it would twist you into a hideous monster with an appetite capable of destroying worlds. A thing no longer human, without pity or memory; a soulless animal."

"So when does 'e get the stake?" said one rather aggressive-looking man, cocking his head at the Master. "Or maybe we just chop off his head-"

"No! He needs – he must stand trial for his crimes, true. But he may well be as much of a victim as you are. I do not think that he knew that the infection would control his so completely. He probably thought that he could use the vampire illness, instead of the other way around. He must be cured, and given to the authorities."

"He'll kick up a real fuss, you know," one of the other men said. "He's stronger than any of us."

The Doctor swallowed. "Perhaps – perhaps we could tie him up."

The men and women seemed to cringe at the prospect of actually touching the Master, and Barbara finally lost her temper.

"Well come on!" she said, brandishing a fistful of ropes. "You watched while he tied me to that table, didn't you? While he b-bit me? While he l-l-licked at me like a dog-" Her voice broke, and she blindly shoved the ropes into Ian's hands.

The Doctor and Ian divided the ropes between themselves and two of the larger men. Once they were in position, the Doctor turned to the staring watchers.

"The door's unlocked, in case this doesn't work," he said ironically. At a nod from Ian, they all moved forward, quickly moving the Master's arms and legs and binding them to the four legs of the massive table. The man's limbs moved like stone, and he hissed under his breath; a slit of pupil showed under his closed lids.

"He's waking up!" Ian said urgently.

"Too late," the Doctor said, taking the reloaded stake from Barbara. He knelt astride the Master's prone body, raising the stake in both hands.

The Master's eyes opened and they were darkness, deepness, an infinite pit dragging him downwards... The Doctor fought back, clenching his fingers on the stake, and then with one explosion of movement he stabbed downwards with all his strength and the needle pierced the Master's chest and he screamed.

He screamed as they untied him; screamed horrible promises of vengeance on them all. He screamed as they fastened his hands behind his back, and people went upstairs in search of clothes and the police (the Doctor recommended putting the kettle on, as they were all quite dehydrated).

The Master's screams finally ran out, and he sat on the table, nearly mummified in rope. He stared at the Doctor with dark bloodshot eyes.

"You ruined it," he finally hissed. "You destroyed all my plans. Everything I would have done..."

"The only person I saved you from was yourself." The Doctor said kindly.

"I will get my revenge for this." This was stated almost matter-of-factly.

"I'm sure that you will." The Doctor rubbed his hands together, winced at the bruises and blisters on his palms, and wondered if he could get some tea down here for the Master. He rather doubted that he would be offered any tea of quality where he was going.

"Doctor."

"Yes?"

The Master looked up. "Thank you."

The Doctor looked surprised.

"You're welcome," he finally said.


End file.
